


Us of Lesser Gods

by Spookywanluke



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cthulhu Mythos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-22 19:31:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/917187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spookywanluke/pseuds/Spookywanluke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sky darkened in a matter of seconds and a bilious cloud of green spread from the road.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Us of Lesser Gods

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Flogging Molly, please accept my humble apologies!  
> Also cthulhu-esk.... who would’ve thunk it

After Moriarty had finished laying out his clever plan, a silence reigned around the gales of wind being so high up on the open roof top.  
Into that silence, an Irish voice, not that of Moriarty interweaved with the wind, floating past Sherlock’s ears

“Those of us, those of us of lesser gods. Who forget where we're from.” Over the top, faintly in whisper “Take us back to the way it used to be”

The sky darkened in a matter of seconds and a bilious cloud of green spread from the road far below up over the rampart of the building's roof, engulfing the combatants, blocking all sight. A wail of a thousand tortured cats, of the universe being pulled apart at the seams, shuddered its way through Sherlock’s mind and body, freezing him to the spot and shutting down the great brain in an instant.

It was at this point a scream ripped through the air and echoed from the direction that was once Moriarty and an impossible voice behind Sherlock, strangely like that of John’s spoke:

“Jump”

Sherlock, all but blind, hesitated briefly, trying to process what was happening when the voice sounded again, this time potent and inarguable.  
“Sherlock, JUMP NOW”

Sherlock leaped blindly.

The sky cleared immediately leaving a bright day and nothing behind.

_____________________________

All anyone nearby to the hospital that day remembers was the omen-coloured sky and that one Sherlock Holmes leaped to his death.  
There was no attention paid to the high rate of untreatable psychosis developed by those who were present that fateful day, other than to write it off as overzealous fans.  
______________________________

Sherlock himself remembered clearly the overcast sky, the bullet clearing through Moriarty’s brain and the jump to his death.

If he thought about the blank space between his fall and the following day, if he discovered an aversion to a particular shade of green, this was put down to malnutrition over the next few months.  
The constant flashes on his peripheral vision of oatmeal and the faint taint of tea that followed him everywhere, this he attributed this to an uncharacteristic longing for home.

If the fact that he took to the hunt of vast Moriarty’s web and the killing fields like he’d been a soldier trained for life bothered him, he never let it show.   
And if he wondered about how he’d dispatched the network over the next three years with steady nerves and favoring of his left hand despite his right-focused ambidexterity, well there was no one to notice.

 


End file.
